The Woman Who Mirrored Him
by Adlock221b
Summary: (A/U - Irene Adler meets Sherlock when she's a suspect to him in a murder trial but she becomes an important person in his life. You could say it was fate that they were meant to meet, cross paths and become close or just a coincidence. Becomes sometimes the universe is that lazy. Sometimes love just happens. Even for Sherlock.)
1. The Great Detective Clutching At Straws

A/N Takes place a month after A Study in Pink. There has been no Blind Banker yet.

* * *

**Did She Do it?**

**Chapter One**

**The Great Detective Clutching At Straws**

As the chair dragged along the floor, the friction noise was fiercely heard by Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, making him wish he hadn't done it. He sat down on the chair and put a file out in front of the woman sitting in front of him. "Dr Irene Adler. Thank you for coming. My condolences for the loss of your partner."

Irene Adler's shamrock green eyes looked at Greg but she did not reply. He opened up the file and laid out photos of Godfrey Norton on the table. "I have already seen this." she stated coldly. "Do you fear that I did not recall these images? My memory is perfectly intact, Mr Lestrade. I assure you."

He opened the file again and put down three medical reports. Hers. "Broken ribs. Then you came in a month later after the broken ribs with broken wrist. The third one you needed stitches in your head. You didn't tell the hospital how you received these injuries."

"You state correctly the matter." she responded calmly. She was too calm to the point that it unnerved Lestrade.

"Would you like to tell me how you got these injuries?"

She rested her elbows on the table and rested her chin on top of her hands, as she looked directly into Lestrade's eyes. "You're curious. Curious is good. That means you're driven. Which means I know that you'll get to the bottom of who killed Godfrey, that's if you use your skills properly. Have you found a cause of death for him yet?"

"You know what I think Dr Adler? I think your boyfriend would beat you up sometimes and sometimes it got so bad you needed to go to hospital."

"Now that is a theory, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I'll give you that. Does that make you feel accomplished? It's the point where every detective feels excited isn't it? When they come across a fact about a suspect. This is unusual. This might be something worth checking out. So you do. And just by that one thing you find out. A brand new theory comes out of nowhere. They say the best detectives have a good imagination. But really? Godfrey beating me up and putting me in the hospital until one day, I snap under the pressure and murder him? And this theory you construct with no other information at your will?" She scoffed and tutted. "Why don't you come back to me when you've found out that the broken wrist I got was when Godfrey was in America on business. I got that broken wrist when my dear father came over to visit and was teaching me how to use a gun despite my protests. Oh let's talk about the broken ribs…A little kid borrowed her father's car keys and was playing around in a car. She stalled the car when she hit me. And the head injury I got? Happened when I was building shelves in my flat and they fell apart on me. Whoops. The irony was the bookshelves were all for my detective books. I liked detective stories. I did like detectives but my expectation in them has completely been degraded. Good luck with your investigation."

She stood up. "I'm sorry that I wasn't of help. I can see the disappointment in your demeanour."

Lestrade looked to the to the mirror. On the other side stood Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Sherlock was a consulting detective and John was a doctor who worked with Sherlock.

"Did she just…." John began.

Sherlock groaned. "It had to be her! She wasn't happy in the relationship. There was times she wore shades in the dark. Look at how she is dressed just now. Does she look the type of person that wears shades with with a white dress in the winter, in the dark? She's elegant. Pretty even. The shades don't go well with her clothes and she's as neat as Mycroft's office. He has OCD. What does that say? Don't get me started on that story about the little girl hitting her with the car. No. It isn't even water tight. Her father? Teaching her to use a gun? Why do that now? Yes he was a marine but why do that now? Wouldn't he have taught her years ago? Back in America where she came from? She's not telling me it is the recoil. The neighbours heard shouting a lot of the time. Let's not forget the little detail of the fact that she's read a ton of detective stories. Surely she'd heard of something that can induce a heart attack in a man of thirty eight. She is good. Very good. But I'm better."

"I think the jury is going to need a little more than she likes detective stories and detectives. You're clutching at straws here. I don't think you're on your best game. That's how good she is. That's even if she did do it. She's manipulative as we've seen and heard. She's a psychologist of course she is. She's good at what she does. But do you honestly think she's capable of murder?"

"Anyone is capable of murder, John. It's just finding the right trigger." Sherlock responded. "Now imagine you were Irene Adler. Imagine for a minute you're clever and devious, John. You're in an abusive relationship and you want him dead. What do you do? We know he wasn't shot. We know he wasn't physically damaged in anyway. He just keeled over. Death of natural causes according to Molly. Now Molly is never wrong. I'll say it. Lestrade always says it but you're a doctor and I'm a detective."

John tried to get Sherlock's attention but Sherlock continued. "We both know that not all deaths that seem natural are natural. Some are caused by toxins. Untraceable. Norton was lying for a couple of days in his office. He was killed over the weekend. Could have been time to…"

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat and Sherlock turned around to see the woman he was accusing of murder.

She smiled. "You've a beautiful way of thinking. I'd love to have you on my sofa." She handed him her card. "Nice coat by the way." She straightened it up for him and fixed his collar. "It'll be nice to analyse the mind of who is accusing me."

"Well I…"

"Tomorrow. I'm not that busy." she replied. "Swing by anytime. I'm sure my PA Kate can fit you in. Good afternoon."

She walked out of the room Sherlock put the card in his pocket. "Oh she's really arrogant. Really, really arrogant." Sherlock gritted his teeth. "She thinks she a dragon who can play with fire without consequences."

"I don't know whether to think this is turning you on or pissing you off." John responding.

"Turned on. Hmmn. That's a good one" Sherlock responded. "She's making me work hard. I'm turned on everywhere." He flexed his shoulders.

"Do you even know what I meant?" John asked.

Sherlock walked out of the door and John began to follow. "So what are you going to do now?" John asked.

"Hmmn. I'll figure something out."

"You mean you don't know? You always know."

"This is an unusual case." Sherlock responded. "A really unusual case."


	2. Mirror Image

**Did She Do It? **

**Chapter Two**

**Mirror Image**

Irene was looking out of her window in her office, right onto the streets outside. She smiled widely when she saw Sherlock Holmes. "Kate. If I have any appointments could you reschedule them?"

"You look too happy for someone who just lost their partner." replied her personal assistant who'd come in to take a tea tray away.

"Remember what I told you about canyons. When a person dies or a bad things happens or humiliation. We're all placed at this canyon of negativity. Now we often go into the deep parts of that canyon and stay there to wallow, grieve…I choose to skip the canyon. Life's too short as was proved by Norton."

"Some psychologists believe it's healthy to grieve."

"I did my grieving for one night. That was enough. I have to move on. It is my way to constantly move forward in this world."

"Or perhaps you're just blocking something out. Perhaps you're just trying to save yourself going down the guilt trip. After all you made his life a misery sometimes."

"It's not my fault he didn't want to talk about his problems. I'm a good listener."

"You don't get it." Kate said, suddenly. "Doesn't matter."

She walked out of the room and Irene sat down on the sofa as she waited and then Sherlock stepped in ten minutes later. "I must say you have quite…" He looked around and at her and felt uneasy. There wasn't much he could get from her.

"Have a seat, Mr Holmes please. Have you found out what happened to my ex, yet?"

"Ex?" Sherlock questioned as he sat down. "Curious choice of words."

"Why is it curious? He's no longer my partner. He's dead."

"You don't seem too sad about that."

Irene tilted her head. "Is that why you're here Mr Holmes? To question my loyalty to the emotion which is grief? How about I throw that question back at you Mr Holmes, how do you feel about grief?"

"Grief is intense sorrow, often caused by the death or injury of a loved one." Sherlock responded and he swallowed.

"Who was it?" Irene asked.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock blinked.

"Who was it that made you grieve?"

Sherlock looked away. "Don't tell me. Just think about them. Picture them in your head. Or maybe it's not one person. But think. Imagine him, or her or more than him or her in your head."

"I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Because it hu-" he began and cut off.

Her whole expression as she leaned forward said 'touché'. "Grief is so intense that it can be painful."

Sherlock stood up. "Don't you dare analyse me." he said through gritted teeth.

"Don't you like being analysed? I assumed since you make so many deductions and assumptions about other people you'd be just as courteous should the time come that it should be happening to you. I feel confused."

"I was prepared to help you. Put in a good word with police, lay a good word in with the jury…Your partner was abusing you. It's only understandable that you wanted him away. But you're…so despicable. Why don't you even care? Maybe you snapped too much."

"The ability to not exhibit emotions which you'd consider weak flows through me…Here I thought you'd be envious but you're….disgusted. Then again it is often the way of the self conscious to not like what they see in the mirror. You call yourself a sociopath. It's interesting how quickly gossip will spread. It's almost as if gossip satisfies a human need. Belittle another person, the person doing the belittling feels superior. You're not a sociopath though are you Mr Holmes? You're a good person. You care about others and that's why you want to be one. I think there was a time when you cared so much about someone or some people….that you ended up despising emotion and caring because as you say…grief hurts."

Sherlock swallowed.

"You're human. You're damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power, yourself….but you're not a god. You're human. If you accept that, right now…you'll be putting yourself through less pain."

"Don't you dare tell me what pain is." Sherlock responded. "Don't you even dare."

Irene stood up. "Godfrey's death made me very sad. I loved him. Very much. But if I continue to grieve over him, I'll be in the bottom of the canyon in pain. I've been in that canyon at one point, in high school…when my mother died. I was in that canyon so deep that I almost attempted suicide. I don't want to be in that position again. It only makes me a burden to my father. Godfrey wasn't abusive like you think. Do I honestly look like someone who'd stay in an abusive relationship? If I did I'd probably question _why?_"

"Then why would you kill him?"

"I thought that you were a good detective. Everyone says so. Guess I was wrong. Oh I hate it when that happens. Mr Holmes. I did not kill Godfrey."

He stepped forward. "Then why is he dead?"

She handed him a card. "My personal phone number. You find out, you let me know. Oh by the way if you're leaving that'll be three hundred pounds. It's one thousand an hour but since you were only here for fifteen minutes, I'll charge you three hundred."

Sherlock turned to the clock to double check that. "Oh look at those cheekbones. I could cut myself slapping that face." she said to him.

Sherlock turned to her. "I'll bring you the money later."

"Until next time." Irene replied. "Feel free to come back. I was enjoying our little chat."

He slammed the door closed. Irene smiled amused and then turned around to the desk where a photo of Norton was, face down. She picked it up and sighed. "I'm sorry." she said before putting it face down again. She cleared her throat and walked out into the waiting area.

"Irene. Your father has been trying to call. You're going to have to talk to him sometime. He's sounding desperate. That's not like him."

"Tell him. He gave up all hopes of repairing our connection when I broke my wrist shooting a gun, and he told me to man up and pick it up again."

Kate was shocked by Irene's outburst, she was always so collected. Irene took a deep breath. "I have an appointment at the university. I'm giving a lecture to students. Tell my father I will not be conversing with him anytime soon. If he doesn't listen after that, call up our provider and have them block his number."

With that she left.


	3. Irene Teaches Sherlock

**Did She Do It? **

**Chapter Three**

**Irene Teaches Sherlock **

Sherlock stepped into the living room in Baker Street and before John could even say hello, Sherlock was leaning over him to look at the laptop screen. "Anything?"

"She's a respected person in her field. Is loved by many…" John began and Sherlock scoffed and started pacing. "She has been the psychologist brought in on almost over two hundred terrorist cases. She's helped victims of rape, attempted suicide…brought closure to family members…She's a mental fixer upper. She doesn't charge them either."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "She charged me."

"So you went to see her, then?" John responded.

"Of course I went to see her." Sherlock said before flopping onto the sofa. "She's the bringer of misery."

John turned to Sherlock. "And do you still think she's guilty?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to think." Sherlock admitted, feeling ashamed. John raised his eyebrows. That certainly wasn't like him at all. Sherlock turned and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know what to do. I feel miserable."

"You feel miserable?" John asked. "It's okay to not know things."

Sherlock sat up. "No, it's not okay. It's not okay! It's not okay!"

He stood up and started pacing. He just really didn't know what to do with himself. "Of course Irene Adler could just be lying again! I bet she's great at lying."

"Sherlock. You're starting to concern me. You need help. Proper help."

"I'm going for a walk. Excuse me." Sherlock responded.

As soon as Sherlock was out of the door John took out his mobile phone from his pocket and found the phone number for Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother. He dialled it and waited for an answer.

"Ah. Dr Watson. To what do I owe the pleasure this time?" Mycroft inquired.

"Sherlock's…"

"Back on the sauce?"

"No not that, although I don't know if that's a risk at the moment. You see there's this woman and I think she broke him."

Mycroft sat down in his office chair. Anthea, his PA, looked curiously and sat down herself. She could tell when Mycroft was concerned about Sherlock. There was a specific look for that and no one knew Mycroft better than she did.

"A woman broke Sherlock. How is that possible?" Mycroft inquired. Anthea raised an eyebrow and Mycroft shot her a very brief, but amused smile.

John looked out of the window to find Sherlock pacing in the street.

"I don't know but he's outside pacing up and down. He can't stay still. At first thought this woman murdered her partner due to spousal abuse or whatever…and now he doesn't know if he was right."

"Do you want me to swing by?"

"I'm at a loss Mycroft. He's at a loss! There's people staring at him in the street, thinking he's a nutter!"

"Don't they do that anyway?" Mycroft replied. "I'm on my way. Just out of curiosity who is this murder suspect."

"Some woman named Irene Adler." John responded.

"Say that again." Mycroft replied.

"Some woman named Irene Adler. She's a psychologist…"

"I'm on my way right this minute."

"What's the matter?" Anthea asked Mycroft when Mycroft placed his mobile on the desk and stood up. She helped him put his suit jacket on and he let out a deep breath.

"Irene Adler has traumatised my brother. Could you call Dr Adler's office please and tell her I need to speak with her." Mycroft responded.

"I will do." Anthea replied. "Is Sherlock alright?"

"No." Mycroft replied. "If he's met her, then he is most definitely not alright."

* * *

"Sherlock. Mycroft is here to see you." John said to Sherlock when Mycroft stepped into the living room. Sherlock sat settled at his computer, searching away. Mycroft sat down in the armchair John usually sat on, earning a look from the army doctor. "You can stop looking for information on Irene Adler now. Because this is sort of an intervention."

"Irene is off limits and as a favour to her father, I'm dealing with the case."

"Oh so you're going to let her walk free of murder now, are we?" Sherlock inquired.

"She's not guilty of anything, Sherlock!" Mycroft responded. "Except being able to toy with, manipulate and fix minds. Everyone's brain is like a computer to be controlled by her and she knows it! And she knows what she has done to you. You hit her with something, Sherlock, she'll hit you back with her own skills."

"How do you know she didn't do it?" Sherlock inquired.

"I know what really happened to Norton. You'll stay out of this. For your own good." Mycroft stood up. "Irene Adler is one of the greatest minds to ever exist and that's because she knows all about them and how they work. Don't let her attack you."

John looked over to Sherlock who swallowed.

Mycroft left and Sherlock swiped a pile of papers off of the desk. "Better?"

"No. I'm not better." Sherlock responded. "I think I'm going to pay Miss Adler a visit."

"Dr Adler." John corrected, amused.

* * *

Irene went to open her flat door and noticed it was already unlocked. She pushed the door open and cautiously stepped inside. She swallowed and butterflies entered her stomach with anxiety. She'd been in the same situation many a time when people had broken into her flat. At least her door wasn't broken down this time. She took a breath, hoping that she'd just forgotten to lock the door. She stepped into the living area and turned on the lights to see Sherlock, sitting on her sofa.

"After business hours, I charge double. So you know." she informed him, taking deep breaths.

"Did I frighten you?" Sherlock inquired.

"You clearly did not think of the outcome of what breaking into my flat could do to my heart rate, did you? Either that you did and you wanted to be amused by my fear."

"You're scared of robberies?"

"The burglar could still have been here. Since it's the natural instinct of humans to survive, of course I felt fear. It's something that shouldn't be repressed since it keeps us in that survival mode. Without it, we die quicker. There is statistics to prove it." Her eyes glanced around and noticed that all the photos of Norton and her were upright, no longer face down and she swallowed.

"You're grieving a lot more than you said you were." Sherlock informed her. "If you were fully away from Godfrey Norton you'd put his photos in a box or you'd burn them. You keep them in their original places and you keep them face down. You can't bear to look at them but you can't bear to put them away. Part of you still hasn't jumped over that canyon of yours. You could have killed him and it could have been guilt but no guilt would be you would burn or hide them away completely. You keep them because you're not ready to move on and you're not ready to let Godfrey move on are you?"

"Not all guilt is felt because someone is a murderer. Some murderers don't feel guilt at all." She sat down and clasped her hands. "We all feel guilt at someone's death, Mr Holmes. Just like you feel guilt for spending all your money you won on science equipment when one week later it was needed because Redbeard needed an operation."

Sherlock's face fell. "What do you know?"

"Guilt can be felt when you shout and insult and hurt your young sister's feelings when she pleads with you not to do drugs and yet you do them anyway but you don't get a chance to make up for it because she later fell into a diabetic coma. Guilt is all around us to make us crave a second chance to fix mistakes. We are faced by choices in our lives and we always want to know how it would have been if we chose differently. We are never satisfied one hundred percent by the outcome of our choice in life. We will always wonder. It is the way of us humans to want to know more. Some more than others. Some break into people's flats and others go visit the parents of the consulting detective."

"And my parents just told you my life story."

"Yes. They thought I was your girlfriend."

"You told them you were my…wh-what?"

"I never told them that. They came to that conclusion on your own. By the way your mother and I agree that you should call more. Why don't you call or listen to your mother? You can talk to me, it's my job to listen."

Sherlock stood up and started pacing. "I don't believe you! You were meant to be abused!"

"Why was I meant to? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes? Every time you say something it's a prophecy?! I'm not your prophecy, Mr Holmes. I am sorry you were wrong. You clearly don't like being wrong but that brings me to one of my observations. You associate your self worth and value with your intelligence. So the minute you're wrong…you're not worth bothering about. But really that's not true. You've family who love you very much, Sherlock. Your parents. Your brother. Your sister loved you too! It wasn't your fault what happened to them and Redbeard wasn't your fault either. You were just a child then! So stop your self loathing! You are the smartest man I've ever met. You made a mistake but learn from them. You're human. Deal with it. But that doesn't mean you can't be great."

Sherlock looked and frowned his eyebrows.

"I know what it's like to lose people you love. I lost my mum because we were arguing over whether or not my father unbearable or not. She wasn't watching the road. She saw umm…swerved to avoid someone crossing the road…I blacked out and I woke up and she was already gone. My mum…had severe brain damage from an injury to the head. She umm…" Irene wipe tears falling down her face and Sherlock sat down. "She umm….said in her medical records that she wanted to no extreme measures which meant that they cut the cord on her life support as soon as he organs were given away. The time I woke up I didn't get to say goodbye or that I was sorry and I…It was my fault. Because I said I didn't want to stay at home while all my friends went on a school vacation to Peru…just so that I could have dinner with a father who kept on informing me that he'd rather I was a boy! I didn't even like Peru. It's an endemic area for plague but I would rather have gotten any form of that disease that put up with another weekend of his…marine attitude to everything! You have nice parents! Both of them are great! So call them from time to time. Even if they annoy you. Call them because they love you!"

"You said you attempted suicide?"

"I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep and I missed my mum! My dad was in Afghanistan. Not that he'd care. He'd tell me to man up. He treated me like a petty officer. So when my aunt got a call from the hospital after my sixth attempt, she wrote to my father. He came home and he…Told me not burden my aunt with my teenage rebellion. I missed my mum and that made me rebellious. Of course he brought up the fact that I couldn't even go to her funeral or take her flowers!"

She looked down at the floor with no idea why she was telling him this.

"I couldn't go to that grave because I missed her so much and I was the reason she died. I felt guilty. Then someone actually helped me. They forced me to think about everything that I was doing to myself emotionally and physically and…that person was a psychologist. And they told me that whether it was my fault or not, whether I made a mistake, I wasn't going about the right way of fixing it. My mum wouldn't want me to damage herself the way I was. She wouldn't want me to not come to see her. In her will she left me everything. Not my dad me! Because she loved me more than anything. I forgot that my mum would forgive me for anything. Because that's what mum's do. I went to see her and the lack of flowers she'd been getting and I decided I wasn't going to abandon her anymore…It didn't do any good, shutting it away, trying to end it all. It doesn't."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you don't go to visit your sister in the hospital. Sister's and brother's are like mums and dads and best friends…They'll forgive you too. Your little sister loved you. I think she'd be very sad to wake up and find you couldn't look past your own selfish need to punish yourself for your own purposes of making yourself feel better, than to go and see her."

Irene stood up. "I of all people know about being punishing of my own actions to satisfy a selfish need. I tried to die so I wasn't suffering from the guilt I felt. Now if you don't mind Mr Holmes…It has been a long day and I'm very tired."

Sherlock nodded and got up. "Do you know what happened to your partner?"

"No. Not yet. If you could find out for me. I'd be grateful."

She wiped away another tear and Sherlock couldn't help it. He put his arms around her and hugged her. Irene was shocked by it too but she hugged him back. "Thank you." she replied before swallowing. "You're quite cuddly for a skinny guy."

Sherlock pulled back and smirked a little before leaving.

Irene went for a shower and got changed into her night clothes. As soon as she heard the knock at the door, she put on her dressing gown and went to answer it. "If that is Sherlock…I really am going to commit murder." she said as she opened the door. She swallowed and went to close it over, ready to lock it and take the fire escape out but the door burst open and she felt herself pinned against the wall, a gun at her neck. "Don't move, Ford! Don't move!"

"I'm Irene Adler not Irene Ford you son of a bitch!" she responded, through her teeth, her American accent becoming more prominent.

She felt the fist of the hand not holding the gun hit her in the stomach and she winced and he pulled her away from the wall with her hair. "Move!" he ordered. Irene tried to look to see if there was anyone else and then she felt the gun strike her in the head. That was the last thing she felt before falling on the ground unconscious.


	4. Heroes and Villains In The Night

**The Woman Who Mirrored Him**

**Chapter Four**

**Heroes and Villains In The Night**

When Irene awoke her vision was blurry, caused by concussion - a result of being whacked over the head with a gun. She felt sick, her head hurt and she could ropes tied tightly around her wrists, and waist. The taste of blood plagued her mouth and she couldn't help but let out a cry of pain as she tried to straighten herself. She rolled her neck and it cracked. It was stiff from the way it had been hanging as she was unconscious. She couldn't tell what time it was, how long she'd been out for or analyse her surroundings.

"You're awake." a voice said and if it wasn't for her ropes, she'd have jumped a foot high. She took deep breaths and tried to keep calm. "My boss will be pleased to hear that."

"What do you want?" inquired Irene, calmly. She'd been in similar situations several times before, and every time she wanted the same thing, either someone to put her out of her misery and shoot her, or someone to take her home so she could lock herself away. She would never however, give them the satisfaction of knowing how frightened she felt.

"I need you to make a phone call to your father and I need you to tell him that…it's not just him who's in danger with his vendetta."

"Which vendetta. He has a lot of them."

"And yet he never seems to remember…" Her captor brushes his fingers against her cheek and she grimaced. "that you always end up in this position. Does he even care?"

"I'll make the call. Just tell me what to do. I have an appointment at the hair salon to get a trim at three o'clock tomorrow, or what I think is tomorrow because I really don't know where I am and how long I've been unconscious but I really would like to make it, my dead ends are starting to split."

"You're going to tell him exactly what I say to you. Do you hear me?"

Irene nodded, the moment of her head making her wince in pain.

"Tell your father, that unless he stops looking for evidence of Senator Richard Terrance Singer, he will end up having to bury you, and then be buried himself. Do I make myself clear?"

"OK. Were you asking me if you were making yourself clear to me or have I to say that to my father?"

"What's his number!?" snapped her captor, grabbing her by the throat.

She closed her eyes, as she tried to remember the number she wanted to give him, hoping her eidetic memory had not been affected at all by her concussion and then she thanked her lucky stars it hadn't.

"07568148152." she answered, taking a deep breath. She could feel the phone at her ear a few moments later and she heard it pick up. "Don't speak, I don't have time. You need to stop your vendetta against Senator Richard Terrance Singer. Stop trying to prove he's…that he's corrupt basically. Stop following the drug dealing trail or else he does to me what he does to Norton and then he'll do it to you. Do you understand me…father?"

"Quite clearly." the voice on the other end replied. "I suppose you can't really talk much, can you?"

"No. I can't talk. Please help me. Please. Do what you do best, please. Restore my faith in you."

The phone was taken away from her.

"Not exactly what I told you to say but it will do. I'm sorry Dr Adler but umm…I'm going to have to leave you here for an hour or two. Then someone will come and deal with you."

"Just shoot me now." Irene replied.

"No. That won't be much fun will it. I'd like you to get hypothermia first. Oh and…just to make things interesting…In case you try to break free…just know that those ropes on your wrist are clotting the cuts…You'd know all about cuts on your wrist don't you Dr Adler?"

Irene swallowed. "You son of a bitch!" she spat.

"Now I have to send meeting arrangements to your dad so we can have a little chat."

"That's if he comes." Irene replied. "I didn't call him. I called someone else."

She felt the weight of a fist, beat into her mouth and she cried out in pain.

"Who did you call you instead?" he asked, menacingly. Irene closed her eyes and shook her head. Like she was going to tell him. Oh no, no. "How about I go get some truth serum, huh? You've had that before, haven't you?"

"You killed the man I loved. Why do I owe you anything? Go ahead and kill me. I don't care if I live or die. I'm an atheist so I do not believe in heaven or hell. So kill me, why don't you. Why don't you just kill me!?"

There was the sound of a gunshot and Irene braced herself for the next part, the pain of the bullet entering somewhere on her anatomy. But it didn't. She took deep breaths and blinked. "Ford?" she asked, calling her father by his surname, believing it was him.

"No." a voice coated with quite a posh English spoke. She could hear footsteps and then she felt someone behind her. "I'm going to cut the ropes but just enough to make you loose. We're going to keep the knots on your hands. It's keeping pressure on your wound."

"Who are you?" Irene asked.

"That doesn't matter but put it this way, Senator Singer is causing some trouble with some friend's of mine back in America. A fixer mission went wrong when they were trying to deal with him and now I have to do it. Him being in London is the perfect opportunity but you calling Sherlock Holmes could have ruined that which means I can't hang around once I drop you off at hospital. Then he's going to die."

"He'll have security."

"He does. But that's not a problem to me. When you get to hospital, I need you to keep your mouth shut. Just as quickly as I saved your life I can eradicate if I think you're a threat."

"Who are you?" Irene asked, wishing she could see.

"One sketch artist, sketching my face on a paper and putting a news report out on me, and you will…"

"I can't see a thing."

"You can't?" the voice asked. "Concussion? Well that's made things a lot better."

The anonymous woman helped Irene to her feet and held her up. "Come on. Let's get out of here. You're going to be alright."

* * *

As Senator Singer left the hotel building he was approached by Detective Inspector Lestrade. "I've never arrested an American politician before, I have to say it's going to be quite therapeutic. I'm arresting you for the murder of Godfrey Norton, running a drug cartel, fraud, identity theft, abduction, and countless other crimes which you are…" Sally Donovan came up behind the senator and hand cuffed him. "going to hear all about at the station. You ever been in a British police station? I'm sure you'll love it. Scotland Yard. Top of the range place. Our politicians rave about it."

Lestrade smiled ."Oh by the way you won't be able to call your lawyer, we found him dead in a warehouse after he took a few lumps out of Irene Adler. The woman you had kidnapped. She told us all about it."

"You don't have any evidence on me! Ford has been trying…"

"Irene Adler's father couldn't get any evidence on you. No." Lestrade replied. "But my good friend Sherlock Holmes did. You should read about him while you're in your cell. It's good stuff. We call him CSI Baker Street back at the station. When you're as good a detective as I am, you have contacts with all the right people. Not lawyers."

Senator Singer drew Lestrade a look which only made the inspector grin even more. It amused him more than the time he set up a pretend drug's bust to annoy Sherlock. Then that grin was wiped off his face and replaced with shock as a small dot of blood appear on the senator's head, before he fell to the ground.

"Where did that come from?!" Greg asked.

"I don't know." Sally replied, as shocked as he was.

* * *

"Here is some tea." John's voice said to Irene. She was sitting in Baker Street on the sofa, Sherlock's coat over her shoulders. Her shaking hands picked up the cup and she took a sip. "Tea. It's what we Brits do in a bad situation. That and tut."

Irene chuckled. "I'll be okay. I'm just, tired. Got my vision back now. So that's not so bad. I was scared I was going to be blind forever."

John sat beside her. "You broke Sherlock. You know that?"

Irene laughed. "Break him? No. I don't break people. I sometimes make them question themselves and their beliefs and Sherlock has a lot of questions and beliefs. To rethink them all when he usually doesn't…can be unsettling."

"I think it's nice that you let people to talk to you and help them. But I suppose there's no that many people who can do the same for you. If you ever want to talk to someone, my inbox is always open."

"That's kind of you." Irene replied, smiling at John.

Sherlock looked up from his laptop frowned. "I'm sure Miss Adler here has better things to do than to speak with you about trivial things." Sherlock commented. "Besides…the senator was arrested and then shot in the head. She's probably more interested in hearing about that. Do you think it's the same rescuer…"

"I don't know." Irene answered quickly. "She didn't speak much. She just said she was going to help. Probably a passing vigilante or something like that. We have lots of them in America."

She swallowed as Sherlock stared at her but she stared right back at him. John coughed a couple of times before excusing himself out of the room.

Finally Irene looked away. "I'm going to leave now. Thank you for the tea and the help and…solving that case. I take pleasure in the fact that you umm…got to the senator before my dad did."

"You trusted me to help you more than you did your father?" Sherlock asked her. "You must really despise him."

"Well my father is horrible and cold hearted at times. But you Sherlock. You're not." she replied before taking off his coat and sitting it carefully over a chair near the desk. She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She turned around walked out of the living room, leaving Sherlock there to swallow, his throat dry.


	5. In CrushLove With The Ice Man

**A/N Sorry for late update. College work got the better of me. But I'm officaly finished Just waiting on a ONE GRADE and that grade will determine if I go to university or not. **

**Kirsty (a character in this chapter) is dedicated to a good friend from college, who support me mentally through the year. So that's my little present to you dear! I know it doesn't seem like it just now but later on you'll love it. **

**Special big than you to Nina Vale! You're a darling for reading my crappy writing pieces.**

* * *

**The Woman Who Mirrored Him**

**Chapter 5**

**In Crush/Love With The IceMan **

Anthea's eyes opened to the buzzing of her phone on her desk. It was only when she sat up and fully managed to become awake that she realised she'd fallen asleep at work. She'd been assisting Mycroft in dealing with Senator's Singer's death on their territory. He'd told her numerous times to go home and she'd eventually given in, but she guessed she'd fallen asleep before she could even get up out of her chair. She answered the phone, knowing that it was Mycroft calling.

"Sir?" she greeted, trying not to yawn. She wanted to go home and treat her muscles to a warm bubble bath.

"I thought this would be a nicer wake up call." Mycroft replied, and then she heard the elevator doors open. She looked up and Mycroft walked over, ending the call between him and Anthea. "Rather than me shaking you awake from here. I believe this is your favourite coffee." She picked up the coffee cup he sat on top of her desk. She went to say something. "There's no need to thank me. It's a thank you gift, Anthea. You always stay. Once you've had your coffee, go home and sleep."

Anthea blinked. "I can't you're in a meeting today with Hope. We both know that you being in the same room as him without a leash is a bad idea."

He chuckled. "You think you keep me on a leash."

"Everyone does, sir."

He chuckled again. It confused Anthea. Everyone called him the ice man. But she couldn't see a drop of ice on him. He was so caring and considerate, especially when it came to his brother Sherlock and the rest of his family and he always got her gifts.

"Reschedule the meeting. They'll understand since we're still investigating Singer's death. The Americans are dying to know what happened. Have you found me Adler yet? There were some curiosities in her report."

"She's been hanging low since she got to New Jersey."

"She left rather suddenly." responded Mycroft. "Perhaps she knows something."

Anthea nodded and smiled.

"But please go sleep first. The bags under your eyes do not flatter you as much as they do when they aren't there."

Anthea blinked. "There's a compliment in there somewhere."

"I believe it was one, yes." Mycroft replied.

"Call me if you need me, sir." Anthea responded, as she got up and threw everything into her handbag.

* * *

When she got outside she stepped into the black limousine, surprised it was already waiting on her. She quickly came to the conclusion that it was Mycroft's doing and without further thought upon the matter she climbed into the back seat of the long back car, where she realised she was sitting next to a woman. She was wearing dark shades. Her hair was dark too, but in the darkness of the car with its tinted windows she couldn't tell if it was black or dark brown. It was long, and up in her hair in a high ponytail at the side, which brought a long twisting of wavy curls in spirals down past her right shoulders.

"Hello Anthea." she spoke, her accent was far more upper class than Anthea's. "Can we talk?"

Anthea went to leave the car but it locked itself. "What do you want?" she asked, her throat dry.

"Mycroft has the party at the Turkish Embassy to attend next week. Make sure he doesn't." she responded. "That embassy leaves too many openings for his assassination and already someone in your government has planned to do that. Hope. I do have the evidence to have him arrested right now but that's not enough to stop, stop him. Now normally to butter them up into this false sense of security I'd let them do what they want but when it comes to Mycroft Holmes, sentiment will get the better of me."

Anthea swallowed, and her jealous side started to take over in her mind, telling her that woman was a bitch who needed knocked down. But then again, how could she blame the woman for caring about Mycroft. Mycroft was kind, intelligent, handsome, educated, and so considerate. But now wasn't the time, and she corrected her posture. Someone was trying to kill Mycroft and she was going to find out whom.

"And who in the government is trying to kill him?"

"Don't worry. I'll make sure nothing happens to Myky. Besides, shouldn't you have made your move by now? On Mycroft I mean. He's a little clueless sometimes so you have to make the first move. It doesn't take a genius like me to figure out that you're a dolphin to him rather a goldfish and that you're both so in crush with another."

"Wh-wh-what on earth has brought you to the assumption that I'm in love with Mycroft Holmes?" Anthea replied, annoyed.

"My assumption was in crush with him but yeah in love is probably more correct. Anyway, Kirsty here is going to take home. Aren't you Kirsty?"

The window to the driver's seat opened. "Yes. I've never driven a car like this before. Should be fun." Kirsty replied with a Scottish accent.

"I'll see you." responded the young woman with no name in the back seat of the limo with Anthea. "Remember what I said. Get Mycroft away from that party! His life depends on it."

Anthea grabbed her arm, tightly. "You're going to tell me who it is and you're going to tell me now! This limo has a distress signal that is voice activated and all I have to do is say the right word…"

"It's disabled at the moment. Your attempt to bargain with me is futile. Sleep well, Anthea. By god you need. Those bags under your eyes don't flatter you."

Anthea so wanted to punch her at that moment as she got out of the car. Anthea sighed and clicked on her seatbelt. "Fine Kirsty whatever your name is. Take me home."

* * *

Sherlock read the latest email from a client he'd decided to help. She was replying to a question he'd asked.

**TO: Sherlock Holmes**

**FROM: Emily Wilder**

**Stuart vanished six days ago and he hasn't been home or at the library he works in, since then. He's normally such a thoughtful type, always reading philosophy and day dreaming about the future. We're getting married next week and daddy's spent his last penny on the ceremony. Please, bring my little dreamer back to me.**

**Emily. **

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the endearment at the end.

"Boring." he said, ready to close down the lid.

"Sherlock. She's willing to pay money for you to investigate this." John said. He'd been reading the email too. John didn't have the same financial expendability as Sherlock did. He needed Sherlock to have a case so he could pay his phone bill.

"You're welcome to investigate it if you like."

"Fine. I will. Can't be too hard if you say it's boring. Must be easy."

"Fine." Sherlock replied.

"Heard anything from Irene Adler?" John asked as he took the laptop from Sherlock.

"Why would The Woman contact me?"

"No reason." John replied. "Just thought she'd want someone to talk to what with her being…Maybe I should give her a call."

"No. She doesn't need a call from you."

"Right." John replied. "I should get a job."

"Boring."

"Is everything to you boring?" John asked, rolling his eyes. "I don't even know why I bother. I think I'm going to talk to Emily in person."

"I'll save you the trouble. Fiancée was marrying her for her money, and any wealth she had was put into the wedding. He was a gambler, liked a flutter on the horses. Had a few failed attempts and ending up winning big. He's left the country."

"When did you figure that out?"

"When she emailed me."

"So you were going to let me investigate this."

"No I was allowing you to stumble on it, so you could break the bad news since that is what you're good at."

"Right." John replied. "Right."

He stood up. "I'll have the cheque put in my name, shall I?"

"Fine whatever."

John let out a deep breath and stormed out of the living room as Sherlock took his laptop back and read another email he'd just received.

**TO: Sherlock Holmes **

**FROM: Irene Adler**

**Thank you for your email Sherlock. I arrived in Newark safely. It was so kind of you to ask. My father didn't though but then again why would he care? I hope you're well and not too bored. I hear you're very irritating when you're without entertainment but then again, aren't we all? It is always a necessity for human's to have our minds stimulated. It could be the same for animals but I studied human psychology. Although if I really wanted to…**

**Anyway, I saw a scarf in a shop in the airport. I think it'd suit you very well. I have already posted it. **

**And yes, Sherlock. I'd love to have breakfast with you when I return to London, until then you'll have to have it without me. If you're ever in my neck of the woods, feel free to stop by. **

**Lots of Thanks. **

**Irene. Xx**

He sat for a moment before replying.

**TO: Irene Adler**

**FROM: Sherlock Holmes**

**I do hope you get over your bout of jet lag and mixed time zones soon. You must be having caffeine pumped into you on a drip. I can let you know all the best drug dens in New Jersey if you like. You could something to help you sleep. As to whether I was serious there is for your own contemplation. **

**And thank you. I've not had a scarf bought for me since my mother did, in Harrods. It's very kind of you. **

**Sherlock. : )**

**PS: I think that's meant to be a smiley face. I was smiling when I typed you see. **

He clicked send and waited on a reply. He hoped she'd reply.

* * *

Anthea stepped into Mycroft's office later on in the day. "Sir." she addressed him.

"Oh hello, Anthea. I'm alright just now. I don't need anything." he smiled pleasantly at her.

"Sir, I cancelled the Turkish Embassy from your agenda next week."

Mycroft looked up at her confused. "I know it gives me stress and puts my blood pressure up Anthea, but really I'll be fine."

"No you won't because someone in the government is trying to assassinate you and they've the perfect opening next week."

"How did you come by this information?"

"Someone picked me up and told me. But that's all and I wasn't even meant to tell you that but I think honesty is the best policy."

"They picked you up?" Mycroft asked, worried. "Did they hurt you? Are you alright?"

"I'm….I'm fine." responded Anthea.

"Tell me more about this man."

"It wasn't a man. It was a woman. She seemed to know you. From what I gathered she knows who it is that's trying to kill you but she wouldn't say. Says she needs him lured into a false sense of security."

"What else did she say?"

"That she'd just let you die for that reason of false sense of security but sentiment got the better of her…"

"A woman with sentiment for me? Are you sure it wasn't my mother?" Mycroft responded and Anthea looked down. "I find that very hard to believe."

"Why?" Anthea asked.

"As I said, the only woman with any sentiment in my life was my mother. The other is in a coma."

"Oh…you've a girlfriend in a coma?"

Mycroft laughed. "No. Sheridan. My sister. Anthea you are funny sometimes." He stood and walked over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "A girlfriend in a coma. That's taking the sentiment too far."

"Why? You could have a girlfriend if you wanted." she turned to him and reached up to touch his cheek.

Mycroft grabbed her hand. "I think you should stop, Anthea."

"I'm sorry." she replied before hastily making her way out of the office.


	6. Matters Of The Organs

**The Woman Who Mirroed Him**

**Chapter Six **

**Matters of The Organs**

* * *

When Anthea hadn't returned to work after two days, Mycroft was beginning to worry. It was not like her to just abandon everything and certainly not abandon him. She was the most loyal PA he'd ever had, the one he could trust the most. Throughout his day there were people and they were all goldfish to him, and it mentally and physically was difficult for him - but then there was Anthea, a breath of fresh air, someone he thought of as an equal. Most importantly she knew him better than most people did. He was fond of her - perhaps too fond of her - and that was a fact he registered completely and so when Anthea had caressed his cheek liked that, he told her to stop because it meant more to him than it did to her. She was being kind. He had to stop her because if he didn't it would break his heart.

He didn't think at the time, that he could have embarrassed her the way he did, and an overwhelming sense of guilt was sweeping over him. It was time to pay her a visit and apologise. The only other person he'd really ever give apologies to in person like that, would be the queen and even then he'd do it grudgingly but not Anthea, there was no hesitation. It was what he had to do, because he cared about her.

In fact - he was infatuated by her.

He stood up and called the car to be brought around.

* * *

Anthea scolded herself as she began to tidy up her flat. She was organising the book shelves to have everything in alphabetical order, and all her books had been left stacked in piles on the floor. She almost jumped when she heard the doorbell ring. She looked at the clock. It was quarter past 8. She cracked her neck and walked to the door before opening it, not even looking throughout the view hole.

She swallowed when she saw Mycroft.

"You shouldn't open the door without acknowledging who is outside. I could have been anyone." Mycroft told her as soon as he saw how shocked she was as soon as she looked at him.

"What do you want, sir?" Anthea asked, politely but promptly.

"I came to apologise."

"Oh. What for? I was the one who did wrong. I…over stepped the barrier between boss and lackie…"

"Anthea you overstepped no barriers. I did. You were being kind as always. I was telling you to stop before it broke my heart."

"What do you mean?" Anthea replied, hoping it mean what she thought.

He sighed. It felt so much easier to explain to himself than to her. "Anthea…If there was any one to be reprimanded it is me. I'd like to see you at work tomorrow. Goodnight, Anthea."

"Yes of course, sir." Anthea replied as he turned and left. She slammed the door closed, angry.

* * *

**Two Months Later… **

Sherlock sat in his chair and listened to what his most recent, potential client said. "I think that there's a scam going on involving organ donations." she said. She was possibly in her mid fifties to early sixties. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You see I was offered help from a lady from a charity but she also asked for a donation. I felt as though I was being asked to pay for it. And I'm in a mess because…"

"Either pay her the money or…You're not sick." Sherlock said, looking at her. "It's not for you. Then who is it for?"

"My granddaughter. She's been taken off the transplant list for some reason. But she needs it. I just find it strange that after two hours of finding that out, I'm offered a chance for her to get her place back or even a new kidney…"

"You think you're being exploited by a charity company and that they had something to do with your granddaughter being taken off the transport list? Or perhaps they were monitoring. But if she's sick, why take her off of it? I will look into this."

"Thank you." replied the woman. "You're a very kind and considerate young man."

John who'd been taking notes, looked up with widened eyes.

"First things first then, Mrs Julian. I need more data. Dr Watson here will help. He's one of the doctor's you can trust."

* * *

John smiled as the woman who was a representative of the charity Mrs Julian had been talking about, walked into the living room in 221 B Baker Street. "Hello…Miss Thompson?"

"You must be Mrs Julian's advisor."

"Yes. I am. I just need to find out some things first." John replied. "Have a seat please."

* * *

"Did you learn much from her?" asked Sherlock when he walked into the living room after the representative had been gone.

"Just that her name is Marianne Danes and that it's good samaritans which are offering up their organs, not to mention it's legal because the money doesn't go to the donators but to the charity…It's a little bent. A donation is anything between 100 to 500k."

"There's no way Mrs Julian could pay that." Sherlock said and then he puts his phone on the table. "I found some names of doctors in Miss Dane's organiser. She's also attending a tennis tournament tomorrow. I have the address."

Sherlock's phone went off and he answer it. "Hello Mycroft did you get the names I sent you?…I'm not up to anything. Just helping out a poor little girl who needs a kidney. Is there anything wrong in that?…They all work for the same organisation. Hold on a minute…"

Sherlock turned to John. "I know where they are getting their 'donations' from."

"Where?"

"An organisation called World Wide Healthcare. The organisation gathers doctors willing to go out to poorer countries in Azia, Africa and all that. They must be finding organs from their somehow and then bringing the cases in to the country or just the organs. I don't know yet I'll find out. But they're all going to be at the tennis tournament tomorrow. It's a good place to gather data, don't you think?"

"Someone has to stop them. Should we call Lestrade?" John replied.

"No. It's too slow." Sherlock replied.

John rolled his eyes.

* * *

The tennis tournament and cocktail party was taking place in a mansion in London. It was a hot day, and the weather fitted the event perfectly. Sherlock had to sneak in through a window into the conservatory to get into the building. There was a doorman there. He climbed up the stairs inside and started to look for Marianne Danes' room.

"Excuse me!" a voice said, sharply and he turned around to see a security. "I didn't see you come in the door. Where's your invitation and badge?"

"I seem to have misplaced it. I'm terribly sorry." Sherlock apologised.

"What's your name?" the guard asked, looking at Sherlock suspiciously.

"Oh darling. There you are." a female voice coated with an American accent said. It was like heaven at that moment in time, or an agent saving him from a moment of hell and difficulty. She walked up to him and kissed his cheek. "It's the floor above we're on, silly."

"You're with Dr Adler?" the security guard asked suddenly.

"Yes. He's with me." Irene replied. "I'm sorry if he's caused you an inconvenience. He's like that sometimes. But I love him all the same."

"Apologies. I'll let you two carry on."

"Don't worry we will." Irene replied as the security guard left. She turned to Sherlock. "Hello. Nice to see you again."

"Miss Adler. To what do I owe the honour of your presence here."

"You cane come have a drink with me and I'll tell you. What I want to know is what you're up to."

He smiled and took her hand.


	7. Adler's Information

**The Woman Who Mirroed Him**

**Chapter Seven**

**Adler's Information **

Irene stepped out to the garden with Sherlock, who was immediately scanning the guests. "So who are you checking out? World Wide Healthcare or Wide Open Hearts?" Irene picked up a champagne flute from a passing waiter and took a sip. Sherlock glanced at her. "What?" Irene asked him.

"What _are _you doing here, Adler?" he asked.

"I was invited. Unlike you."

"So what you help these charities by going and giving your wonderful psychological metal expertise or whatever?" he asked her and Irene chuckled. "I'm being serious. How are you even a sccociated with these people?"

"Even if an organ in a transplant is a great match, it does not necessarily mean that it will not be rejected, even with the help of anti-rejection medication. Sometimes the patient has to be in a mind set which allow for recovery and since I'm very good at what I do and since I make donations to both causes, they see me as someone worthwhile having around."

"Yes that's what making me angry." Sherlock replied and Irene blinked. Sherlock looked at her. "You've not got a clue do you? You're funding a scam! Tell me about the Wide Open Hearts and World Wide Healthcare."

"World Wide Healthcare is a charitable organisation which involves doctors going out to places like India, Asia and Africa, places where healthcare isn't the best, and they're skilled in what they do. They raise money to perform surgeries on children and women and men who need transplants. Wide Open Hearts, focuses more on the charity and was founded by a doctor who worked for World Wide Healthcare."

"Who?" Sherlock asked.

"Dr Gillies." Irene replied, before gesturing to him. He was a tall thin man, drink cranberry juice close by to the pool. "Is it really a scam?"

"If it is, I'll stop it.' Sherlock responded. "Do you know a Marianne Danes?"

"She's Gilles' personal assistant. I hate her." Irene replied grimacing. "She spilled wine down my good white dress. So I stuck glue in her heels. It was amusing."

"That's my girl." Sherlock responded and both him and Irene were shocked by his statement and endearment. "So Danes works directly for Gilles then?"

"Yes." Irene replied.

"Do you know where Gilles works?"

"I know where, yes." Irene replied. "I've been there a couple of times."

"Do you think any evidence he had would be kept there?"

"I don't know, I am not a detective. But I do know he gets a lot of patients who exhibit signs of being unstable mentally."

"He's a psychologist like you?" Sherlock asked, surprised.

"God no. He's psychiatrist. I hate people like that. It's all sedative and beta-blockers these days rather than people addressing their problems. Psychiatrists do medicine first and become a doctor and then a psychiatrist. Then they give out pills. Fair enough some medications will help those with dementia and Parkinson's but how many of them dish out anxiety medication to teenagers who need someone to put them on a path where they aren't dependant of them."

"You're very...passionate."

"I'm very pissed off about some people here."

"Me too." Sherlock agreed. "Let's get the bastards."

She chuckled and then her eye caught Dr Gilles approaching them both. Irene smiled as he walked up to her and kissed her hand. "Miss Adler." he said, politely. "I'm pleased to see you here."

"Good morning Mr Gilles." Irene replied, with a smile.

"It's actually doctor." he responded.

"I'm a doctor too," Irene replied "and yet you failed to mention my title and so I thought that they'd become irrelevant."

"And this is?" he referred to Sherlock.

"Her boyfriend." Sherlock responded. Irene smiled and nodded.

"This is Sherlock." Irene explained. "He's not a doctor so just using his first name will do. He hates his surname because of his inferiority complex when it comes to his brother."

Sherlock was about to speak when Gilles did. "I read your article you wrote when you were in New Jersey, I found your criticism towards what I do on a dial basis very charming. Excuse me."

He walked away.

"If he found my article charming then he wasn't reading it properly, either that he's being one patronising smauck. Take him down for me."

"You make it sound like I must defend your honour." responded Sherlock.

"Yes, you must." Irene replied, and Sherlock looked at her and smiled, her green eyes hypnotising him the same with his blue eyes were hypnotising her.

"Sherlock." a familiar voice called, suddenly, bringing them both from their daze. They looked up and saw John.

"How did you get in here?" inquired Sherlock.

"Danes invited me." John replied. "I think she fancies me."

"Adler doesn't like her though." Sherlock said and Irene nodded.

"Irene Adler. Hello. Wow. You're here and with Sherlock."John smiled, surprised.

"It's nice to see you again Dr Watson." Irene said before hugging him.

"It's fine. John will do." said John. "Are you playing in the tennis tournament."

"Yes. I am later in the professional sets."

"Well good. Sherlock's always fantasised about you in a tennis dress." John joked.

"Has he?" Irene asked, glancing at him.

"Umm...I haven't...umm...why would I?" Sherlock asked, awkwardly.

"John is only doing this little thing called joking." Irene replied. "But we will address that later."

Both John and Sherlock widened their eyes and Irene rolled hers. "I am on about his social awkwardness when it comes to the sex appeal of the sexes. Perhaps you need to attend therapy, Dr Watson for your inability to remain in a steady relationship and let's not blame Sherlock. You've been having that problem since you were in university. You've a very nice sister."

"Oh so that's why you exchanged email addresses on my blog." John replied. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to my sister."

"You'd appreciate that what your sister and I talk about, is clearly up to dear Harriet. You'll be pleased to know we're good progress with the alcoholism."

"Blog?!" Sherlock asked. "What blog. Anyway there a case, there isn't time for you two to blog."

"Why isn't there?" Irene replied. "You're obviously going to that clinic next and you would have gone already if you were going. Ever heard of killing time."

"As far as I am aware time can't be murdered."

"No but detectives can."

"Irene Adler, why don't I get you a drink." John said. "You can tell me more about Harriet."

"She's had champagne already and she's playing in a tennis match. She doesn't want one. Go chat up Danes or whatever."

"I might." he responded before turning around walking away.

"Social pleasantries are something else you need to work on or do you? You can be charming when you like, you just aren't, why is that?"

"Why do you always have questions?"

"Are we really on this subject again?"

"Yes." he nodded after a moment of thinking.

"Have you been to visit Sheridan in hospital."

"I did but I was told she was moved to a different one. I don't know where."

"Surely Mycroft or you parents would know."'

"I don't ask them about her. We don't talk about her all that much. It upsets us all."

"You're Sherlock Holmes, can't you deduce it,"

"I don't want to."

"Ah I see. You went even though you didn't want to and it was relief when you found out you didn't want to walk into her hospital room and feel the guilt creep over you. It's understandable. I am not criticising because I have been there."

"Really? Putting glue in someone's shoes? That's more something I would do Adler."

Irene chuckled. "She deserved it, Mr Subject Changer."

Sherlock was going to respond but decided not to, he just offered to get her a non alcoholic beverage and she accepted.


End file.
